Yes fhe is there: From idle ftate Now tries his trembling hand to frame XXVII. O'er a fair fountain's fmiling fide This fcene he chofe, this fcene affign'd And The hand that bore thofe lines of love, XXVIII. 'She comes not ;-can she then delay ? 'To her I faid and call'd her dear. * See the ancient Scottish Ballad, called Gill Morrice. She comes -Oh! No-encircled round 'Tis fome rude chief with many a spear. My hapless tale that Earl has found Ah me! my heart! for her I fear.' His tender tale that Earl had read, In he deems rage a 'Tis o'er-thofe locks that wav'd in gold, That ftreaming head he joys to bear The fatal tokens forth he drew Know'st thou thefe-Ellen of the vale, The pictur'd bracelet foon fhe knew, The trembling victim, ftraight he led, She faw-and funk, to rife no more. THE HERMIT of WARKWORTH. A Northumberland BALLA D. In three Fits or Cantos. By the Rev. Dr. PERCY, Lord Bishop of Dromore, Editor of the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. G The Mufe there found them all remote from view, O Lady, may fo flight a gift prevail, Surely the cares and woes of human kind, She feeks no other praise, if you commend MDCCLXX. |